Her Little Wolf
by N7Dragon5
Summary: After Hadriana's death, Fenris finds himself at Hawke's mansion to apologize for unnecessarily harsh words. Things go much better than expected, leading to this detailed explanation of their night spent together. Rated M for assloads of lemon. A gift for scatmaan after a thousand years of procrastination. My very first smut, so please be nice despite the horrid title and genre!


_Why am I here? What am I even doing?_

Fenris paced around the hallway, his hands behind his back and his head down. His heart pounded with anticipation and anxiety as he expected the front door to open any second. He didn't know why he wanted it to open. He didn't know why he thought he _deserved_ for it to open. All he knew was every time the dog barked, he could swear he heard a hand turning the doorknob.

_Perhaps I am dreaming. Or dead? Yes, I am definitely dead._ The dog barked again and he looked at the door, though it didn't open. _Hadriana killed me back there because I wasn't strong enough, and Hawke is probably in the ruins right now doing…doing…_ Doing what, he wondered? Why couldn't he finish his thought? Too many possibilities raced through his mind, the worst being Hawke just left his rotting corpse there. That seemed worse than just dragging it out for the vultures or—Maker forbid—looting it for the valuables she'd given him and whatever coin he may have salvaged. No, being ignored was definitely the worst.

He felt he would've deserved it though, after the things he'd said. "_May she rot, and all the other mages with her!_" He remembered regretting the words as soon as he'd said them, then regretting telling Hawke not to comfort him. That was another thing he didn't know, why he'd said those things, and the list was growing rapidly. He knew he wanted Hawke to comfort him, to keep her delicate hand placed lightly on his shoulder, but what he didn't know was why he'd said he wanted what he didn't want at all.

That was why he waited there, why he kept himself busy by pacing back and forth. He wanted to apologize more than anything in the world, to do Hawke a service instead of the other way around for once, so he decided to let anxiety consume him rather than guilt. His debt to her grew and grew and grew, and he had yet to find a way to actually repay her. The more he tried, the more it seemed he was pushing her away, when in truth he wanted her to be closer. So much closer… He wanted a lot of things, but mostly, he wanted _her._

_No,_ he thought, sitting on one of the benches in the hall. Pacing seemed pointless, considering how long it had been. _It could never happen, you know that. You are here to apologize, then simply _leave_._ Deep in his mind and somewhere in his heart, he knew he was simply lying to himself to make himself feel better. All he was allowed to have was some way to repay his friend—the word still sounded so strange in his mind—for everything she had done for him, and he understood that perfectly well. Nothing more, and absolutely nothing less. He kept the lie close to him though, replayed it over and over in his head. Then, though the dog didn't bark, he heard the doorknob turn.

Hawke didn't notice him at first. She spent a few seconds trying to figure out the lock on her door, then another few to put her staff on the wall and balance it out so it wouldn't topple over, which made him smile a little. When she turned, brushing dirt of some kind—from what source, he couldn't begin to guess—off of one of the sleeves of her robes, she realized she had a guest and her eyes grew wide upon seeing him sitting there. The lanterns on the wall and the star and moonlight coming from the windows made the lighter parts of her hair appear to glow, some of it dancing off of some of the more metallic parts of her robes. The entire thing made her look like a goddess, a word Fenris would never in his lifetime give to a mage, but she appeared to be beautiful, mage or not. She _always_ appeared to be beautiful.

"Fenris?" Hearing her voice made Fenris remember where he was, why he was there. He was to apologize for his complete and utter stupidity and selfishness and then get out.

"I've been thinking about what happened with Hadriana…" He stood from the bench and walked toward her, stopping just far enough not to touch. "I took out my anger on you, undeservedly so. I was…not myself. I'm sorry." _There. Think of an excuse to leave._ Instead of simply accepting the apology and moving aside for him to get out the door, Hawke continued the conversation. She seemed to actually want to continue it. He wasn't sure exactly why.

"I had no idea where you went. I was concerned." The words stabbed like daggers into his heart. Concerned? About him?

When she'd said she enjoyed listening to him talk, he assumed she was simply being nice and didn't really mean it. Why would she mean it? He never thought of his voice or the things he had to talk about to be all that remarkable, or even the smallest bit interesting. But when he spoke to her she actually…listened, understood.

He was completely happy to return the favor of listening, of course. More than happy. Her voice was music to him, each word a lyric with a deeper meaning, and his heart danced to the tune in a fast, off-beat frenzy whenever the sound reached his ears. The occasional laugh or smile she gave after saying or hearing something she found amusing added to the beauty of her entire being. Somehow, he doubted others didn't feel the same way. He didn't even know what this really was. Was this the famous concept of friendship he'd heard so much about? Or was it, against all odds, this strange thing called "love"? He'd seen shows of it before when he was a slave, simply property no one bothered to pay attention to; mouths pressed against each other, then tongues collided, the whole thing leading to the pair ending up naked, one actually _inside_ the other in a fit of moans and clawing and back-arching. The first time he saw it, he deemed it disgusting and never wanted to have anything to do with it. His feelings hardly changed the many other times a pair of lovers was oblivious to his presence, and for his own sake Fenris had done his very best to keep a neutral expression during it all.

But if that's what love was, what it really, truly was, he wanted it. He wanted it with _her._ He'd go through all of the disgusting shit he'd seen in Tevinter if it meant being close, clos_er_, to Hawke. No matter how much the fact that he couldn't pressed at the edges of his mind, that closeness was what he wanted. He was an escaped slave and an elf who lived in a borrowed mansion, and she was a human apostate refugee barely able to dodge the templars, but no matter their differences, he felt a pleasant ache in his heart whenever he laid eyes on her.

Despite this ache, these feelings, this…"love," he refused to let any part of it show now. He groaned and turned away from her, said he didn't come to burden her anymore than he already had. She hesitated for a moment, and right when he was about to turn back to walk out the front door, she placed her hand on his arm, making him freeze. She told him he didn't need to leave. She said it in the softest tone he'd ever heard her use, the most affectionate, and knowing it was directed at him made his heart flutter. The fluttering was replaced by anger, however. He didn't even know what exactly he was angry at, but just as Hawke started to turn him toward her, his markings glowed.

He turned and pushed Hawke against the wall, staring daggers into her soul, and she looked back at him with sad and surprised eyes, sapphire meeting sage as they took that one moment simply staring at each other. Those eyes, those big, blue, beautiful eyes, were what made him calm himself. He loosened and finally released his grip on her arms, and looked at her, his expression apologetic and almost begging forgiveness. She smiled at him then, and he assumed she would simply leave it at that and let him go. Instead, she took both of his arms, pulled herself up to his height, and kissed him. She actually kissed him. Her mouth against his sent so many emotions and thoughts running through his entire body that he could barely control himself, the heat of her lips and the way her scent overpowered him threatening to drive him mad. His hands found themselves around her waist, and she placed her own arms around his neck, until she let go and they parted, taking in what breath they'd had to make up for. His heart sank for a moment, afraid that she would leave him. Against his fears, she took his arms again and threw him against the same wall she was pinned to mere moments before, and then she kissed him again.

Fenris wanted it to stop. He wanted everything to stop. His hands said otherwise, however. They wandered up and down Hawke's back, sometimes going further down than that, and he gently dug his fingers into her back as he listened to her tiny gasps when his clawed gauntlets stabbed her flesh. And then, he felt some kind of _intrusion._ Something pushed against his lips and dove into his mouth, something small and soft and wet. Her tongue came in to duel and dance with his, and the warmth spreading through his body was more than he'd ever dreamed of. He could feel it, his markings growing warmer and brighter with love and excitement. When he felt her mouth part from his, whether to breathe or talk or something else, he wouldn't allow it, coming back down to softly bite her lower lip and bring her back in. She smiled into their kiss when he did that, not making any objections to the prolonging. He wanted it to last forever. It had to.

Hawke brought one of her hands up to frame his jaw and cheek, the sensation that formed where she touched driving him insane, and her other hand came up to play with the collar of his tunic, slipping in and out and expertly tracing the lyrium scars on his neck. The way her fingers played about his skin was almost painful—most touches were—but it was gentle as well, protected, as if she was trying to keep him from breaking as soon as she'd gotten him into her grasp.

Eventually, they parted again, and Fenris grunted in complaint. Hawke allowed her hands to come back down to her sides, and they took his wrists from behind her back and made him release his hold on her. She turned, starting to walk through the hallway door. His heart sank. After all that, she's just going to leave him in the doorway without a word? His thoughts changed when she walked just past the doorway and turned to look at him, an inquiring glimmer in her eye but a mischievous look on her face. He knew what she wanted of him.

He allowed himself no hesitation, immediately taking brisk strides towards her and hoping she couldn't see the undying hunger in his eyes. The spot next to Sandal's enchantment apparatus was empty, and he assumed Bodahn and Sandal had already gone to bed. Good, that would hopefully mean nothing to come between them. The two of them walked up the stairs, and upon entering Hawke's room, she took his shoulders and slammed him against the wall, pushing her mouth on his again. He explored the curves of her back and the feeling of her spine and shoulder blades just below the flesh, and grunted another complaint when Hawke forced them into separation. Taking his hand in hers—Maker, the warmth of her touch was unbearable—she stepped back until her knees found the edge of her bed.

She fell backwards onto the mattress and pulled him on top of her, grabbing the back of his neck and pulling him down to crush their mouths together again. Her hands wandered up and down his back and neck, while he, in the position he was in, was only able to carefully explore her sides. Her hands migrated from his neck and to the many buckles of his armor, fiddling with them until they finally came loose and almost immediately discarding the piece, his metal breastplate making a loud _clang_ as it hit the stone floor. He did the same to the buttons of her robes, allowing her the freedom to pull one bare arm out of the sleeve followed by the other. He undid her belt, his mouth and tongue still venturing within hers, and when finished he tossed it and the empty robes to the side, not caring where they ended up. Her boots she managed to slip off herself, her gloves being removed quickly behind his head.

Hawke's finally bare hands migrated low, reaching the hem of Fenris' trousers and tugging them downward. In assistance, he climbed out of them and discarded those, too, letting them fall to the ground who-knew-where, and removing his gauntlets just after. They both looked so exposed, so vulnerable, without all of their adornments of war, and yet their mouths were so close together they could almost feel each other's teeth behind their lips, Hawke's nails digging into Fenris' back while carefully avoiding his markings. The only thing truly separating them now were thin and flimsy under garments. That was all it would take. Fenris, however, had no desire to rush into things, even with how far they'd gotten.

His hand, now free of its clawed gauntlet—though he had no doubt that it would be much more fun otherwise—glided up and down her side, softly scratching little lines into the skin with dull nails. He wandered below her curves and down her thigh, then back up again until he reached her chest. Grazing his hand over her breast, he moved toward the clasp of her breastband and fumbled with it until it came undone, allowing him to assist her in stripping it off and leaving it somewhere on the ground. Now there was nothing between him and the piles of flesh, and he moved his hand and pressed it down until it gently held flush against her. He put his thumb over the hardening peak, rubbing in circles and playing with it as he listened to her moans and gasps that filled his own mouth. He smiled, switching hands to give the other breast the same treatment, switching back and forth, back and forth, molding and teasing until she melted against him. She arched her back, forcing her chest further into his hand, and he hummed in satisfaction with his work. How far could he take this, he wondered?

His hand snaked away from her chest and she whined at the loss of such wonderful contact, and he made sure he teased her by tracing circles under her rib cage, pressing his thumb into her hip, delaying the time between playing and actually doing. He reached her thigh and began to move to the side, towards the space in between her legs that was still covered by her under garments. He stalled a second, took that time to rub the little dimple just below her navel, pressing it down until she squeaked and bucked slightly, tightening her arms around his neck and her fingers tight in his hair, and then he moved back down, slipping his hand into the cloth meant to keep him out. His palm fit perfectly against her, and he allowed two fingers to slip into her folds and swim in the fluids flowing from her sex. He pressed and rolled, rubbed and teased, and he could feel her muscles grasping at nothingness, trying to catch his fingers before they were just out of reach. It was only once her groans turned from those of pleasure to complaint that he gave in, allowing his fingers to slide into her hot, wet sheath. He twisted and crossed and flexed his fingers in every possible way to get every effect out of her, and his smile grew as she squeezed his fingers hard.

"Fenris," she breathed, taking in short and jagged breaths. "Right now." His hand still teasing her, he laughed.

"Would you rather I stopped?" he mused, pulling her upward with his buried hand. She sighed, closing her eyes before looking at him again.

"Definitely not."

"Then let me work." He pulled his fingers out and pressed them against her again, enjoying the freedom he had on the outside. He played with the little bead of flesh, and Hawke arched her back and tugged on his neck to bring him to her again, her fingers twining in his hair and her tongue colliding with his. The heat that had entered him, his cheeks, his heart, as well as elsewhere, made him more desperate for breath, though he rarely broke their long embraces. His scars glowed even more brightly with excitement and anticipation, and Hawke's movements and scent alone were enough to throw him over the edge, though he did his best to restrain himself. He took his hand from inside her garments and tugged on the cloth, pulling it down her legs as she shifted to help him get it off. The same was done to his own coverings, leaving them both bare, him fully ready for her just as she was ready for him.

He nudged her thigh away with his knee, then did the same to the other before positioning himself at her entrance. He could feel the flesh there, warm, wet, ready to take him in. Hawke broke their kiss and swallowed, then took a breath, letting it out jagged and heavy. Fenris pulled his head back enough to look at her. Her face was almost impossibly red, likely from both the embarrassment of being so exposed and from the ecstasy of Fenris' nimble elven fingers. The way he looked at her asked a simple question, one that only required a yes or no answer: "Are you ready?" She understood the silent question and let out another uneven breath before nodding, bringing him back down by tightening her grip on his neck.

Before their mouths came together, Fenris brought his hand up to his mouth and licked Hawke's fluids off of his fingers, then kissed her again, her tongue tasting his mouth more aggressively now that it had a taste of herself within it. He framed her jaw with his other hand and she held on to his wrist, keeping his hand there, and her grip was almost painful as he carefully lowered himself into her, her walls coming around him almost as soon as he entered. Hawke sighed again, her eyes closed as tightly as they could get. Fenris' pace was slow and shallow at first, wanting to give Hawke enough time to adjust to his entry. She wrapped her legs around his waist and ground her hips against his, almost forcing him to go harder, faster, deeper. He obliged, repeating the process of almost completely pulling out and slamming back home as he listened to her faint whimpers. Hawke tried to sit up, but Fenris pinned her down with his hand, silently demanding full control. He moved his hand down from her face and to her backside, digging his fingers into her flesh as she rotated her hips harder against him. Her arms came down until both of her hands framed his face, moving about to tangle in his hair and rub the sensitive tips of his ears. He broke their kiss to bring his mouth to her neck, carefully nipping near her artery and at the joint of her jaw. She gasped as she nuzzled her face against his cheek, and the flush on her face only added to the heat of his entire body.

He felt something warm and wet on his face, slithering down his cheek and falling off quickly after it reached his jaw. He knew it wasn't coming from him, so he lifted his head to look at the woman shaking, sweating, _crying_ beneath him. She allowed herself a tiny sob before wiping the tears away from her eyes. When another escaped, he lifted his hand to her face and wiped it away.

A smile of hers was followed by one of his own, and he came down to kiss her again, firmer, harder, more driven and determined. She _had_ lost a lot, and if he was able to help with that in any way, he was more than happy to oblige…at least, for now.

For a long while they simply stayed like that, Hawke tightening and releasing as she came up and down beneath him, Fenris venturing about her neck and shoulders, back and arse. Hawke buried her face in Fenris' neck to muffle the pleasured sounds of her climax, her walls tightening around him hard one last time, and she arched her back once more, higher this time, after letting her head drop, her cries as loud as she would allow without waking the rest of the house—though, that was hardly her biggest concern. He was hardly far behind. He separated his mouth from hers, pressing his forehead to her shoulder and giving a nearly feral growl into it as his essence spilled inside of her, sighing her name once he was empty. He collapsed, the fatigue overwhelming him, and Hawke shifted to better support his weight. He gathered what strength he needed to lift himself up and disengaged himself from her body, flopping onto his back before she came to settle against him, her fingers idly tracing around his scars. Rolling onto his side, he carefully pulled her up to him and kissed her again, moving his lips in a way that allowed him to taste the sweat that had formed around her mouth. He held her close with his arms around her waist, hers around his neck, and she kissed the marks on his chin and neck.

"You know," Hawke started, the tiredness in her voice rather obvious, "I've never done that before." She laughed a little. "I can just hear Isabela's gasp as I say that." Fenris had no idea how to respond to that. He had just…ah, what was the expression? Taken her flower? He felt ridiculous for even thinking such a phrase, but there it was. He was certain that Varric would've said the same thing, and he and Isabela would take turns making up new expressions for Fenris' "accomplishment". No doubt he was making a bigger deal out of it than he had to.

"Is that supposed to affect something?" He asked, attempting to pretend that it didn't.

"I guess not. Maybe it was dumb to say. At least now if anyone tells Isabela I'm a virgin it'll be a total lie." He barely resisted the urge not to sigh. Leave it to Hawke to joke in a serious situation. Of course, Fenris wasn't exactly sure how to reply yet again. They just laid there in silence for a while in that pleasant afterglow, their breathing getting slower and their bodies cooling off. He reached his hand up and moved her damp hair away from her eyes and kissed her forehead, then moved his head down to press it gently against hers. Hawke shifted so she could reach the edge of the blanket, pulling it up over them just to be covered as they ignored the heat that was now trapped in. He could feel the fatigue start to get at him, though every time his eyes closed he forced himself to snap them back open. He needed to keep looking at her, just stare at her in all her perfection. The speed of all of this, how quickly they'd progressed, was pure madness. He wasn't certain he could handle it.

"Hey," Hawke said, looking up and putting her index finger to his chin, resting right next to his scar. "Thank you." She forced the words out sleepily, yawning afterward. "Thank you for everything." She brought her hand back down and kissed his chin again, then snuggled up against him as she began to fall asleep. Did she just thank him? For what? All he could really, truthfully say he'd done that would require thanks was fight at her side—no doubt he had gotten her out of many unpleasant situations—but what did she thank him for? "Everything"? He tightened his hold on her and closed his eyes, banishing all thoughts of everything but what had just happened, what was happening. They were both laying there together, arms and legs wrapped around each other, falling asleep at the same time, _together._ Whatever he may have felt before, or will feel in the future, he wanted to keep this feeling forever. The feeling of happiness, peace, contentment, _love_; it was a mixture of emotions he finally allowed himself to have.

He would've loved to keep that mixture, but the fleeting memory of his sister's screams as he was taken away to be "branded" demanded otherwise. The memory was replaced by blackness as it was forgotten again, and after his mind painfully searched for it again, he forced himself to sleep, feeling something warm and wet escape his eye make its way down his cheek.


End file.
